Elysium
by oz-cocoa
Summary: The war is over. The Saniwa has to pick up the pieces of their old life while trying to move on from the best time of their life and the best friends they've ever known. Though they must go on with their life, they will never forget. The only thing left for them is to find their own inner peace. Gender-Ambiguous Saniwa. Not Hanamaru or ufotable Saniwa.


Elysium

~ Chapter One: Memory of Saniwa ~

Like one of many that particular morning, a figure lay awake in bed in the earlier hours, when it was still dark outside. Sleep had not claimed them, the result of too many thoughts churning in their head.

Blinking decisively the figure gently unfurled themselves from the plush duvet and swung themselves to the side of the bed, legs dangling off the side. They paused for a moment taking in the peaceful atmosphere. The sound of shallow breathing, the softness of the duvet under one hand and the sheets and mattress under the other, the warmth withdrawing from their body as they just sit there. Silently, they close their eyes and inhale, their shoulders slump, and they finally slide out of bed. After realigning the covers they grab a dressing gown from the hook on the back of their bedroom door, slide it on, and exit the room quietly.

After making a pot of tea they move to a room facing the east. After setting the mug, and the teapot down they seat themselves and reach for a thick blank notebook. The figure takes a long, slow sip from the mug before they flip to the first blank lined page and uncap a pen, putting the lid on it's head. But before they put the pen to paper they stilled. They had had all the words they had wanted to say as they were laying awake in bed but now they seemed to have fled. At least the gist was there, if not the exact wording. They knew what overall message they wanted to convey anyway.

The figure gave an amused smirk. _Isn't that always the way? Well, at least then it will be an authentic re-telling as well as an honest one._

A soft huff and a drawn-out sigh later, the figure finally began their tale.

* * *

220X, XX Month, XX Day

I am the last in the long line of Saniwas of Japan. I am the last, because I have seen this through until the end. I have seen the end of the age-old conflict between the History Retrograde Committee and the true history of mankind. The History Preservation Society, and what was first written, prevails.

Before I was able to step into my role as Saniwa, I had to sift through a large pile of records, an account book-like list of daily activities, use of resources, expenses, troops, enemies battled and their locations, swords recovered, swords damaged, swords broken. All very neat, concise, and dry. Lifeless. All the bare statistics just as the archivists of the Society like it. Of course, I had to record those to submit with my weekly and monthly reports. Those were all I got to see for reference as well as the relevant historical texts.

But that is not what this is for.

What is a Saniwa, you ask? The simple answer is this: a person who can bring objects to life.

The true answer is not so simple. There are conditions. To bring an object "to life", I mean. It is not a true life though, because they are completely dependent on the Saniwa. Maybe it is more accurate to say that the Saniwa can give an object a second form, which takes the shape of a human body. There are various methods for how this can be done across cultures, but for me, as for every other Japanese Saniwa it involved many long hours of learning the art of making Shikigami.

So, there must be a second container created in which the Saniwa can store a portion of their power, enough to manifest a human body that also does not continuously drain power from the Saniwa.

The second condition is a soul. That's right, a soul. Well, not exactly, but it's the best way it can be put. I'll start with this. Can any object be "brought to life?" The answer to that is no. Believe me, I experimented a lot as I was learning how to control my powers better. For example, say, a pop can, a pen, a car or a mass-produced factory-made toy. These things cannot be brought to life. The best guess we have is that since they have no originality, no serious thought, that they were not made with the care that is put into a labour of love. A soul is built with care of the creator, the intent, beliefs, memories, and deeds of the owner, which leaves an imprint or impression, a sort of spiritual memory. And sometimes, a proceeding reputation that spreads among people and their thoughts and stories of that object can also give it a flicker of life.

A flicker is all that's needed.

And that's why ancient artifacts, or say, a sword, can be brought to life, as well as any other thing that has meaning, or something that is precious to a Saniwa.

But even still, this small explanation is not enough.

Before, I mentioned the various documents, logs, and files from the archives left behind by the previous Saniwas. In the beginning, I wondered why that's all there was. Surely, after spending time with these swords they brought to life as I had, so individually human that you can forget so easily that they weren't always that way, that they didn't begin life in the same way as you had. As someone who lived with them, laughed with them, cried with them, bled with them as I had. Loved them as I had. _Do_. Surely, the reports with cold unfeeling words and numbers weren't the only things they had left behind? I couldn't fathom it. Maybe they had, I thought, and the Society had stolen away with their sentimental words and destroyed them, or kept them locked away where no one else could ever find them. Maybe they hid their chronicles away from prying eyes to avoid that very possibility, but to sadly never have them see the light of day again. Maybe, I thought later, much later in my journey, that for some, their time was too private to write down, too sacred.

Too painful.

You ask yourself so many times _what is human? What is a soul? What is a life?_ And you struggle with the morality debates you have with yourself over, and over, _and over again and I still have them sometimes_ but in the end I found a solitary resolution. Even if I never find the answer, I can reconcile with myself because I am writing this Memory, and have encouraged the other Saniwa of my generation to write their Memories, not only to absolve myself of lingering guilt of not having all the answers I sought no, _still_ seek. Though I will confess it is a small part. But only a small one.

My greatest reason for writing this Memory of Saniwa is if there is ever another time or a need for Saniwa Sages and the weapons to fight once again, that you have every advantage at your disposal. And foremost, I _implore you_ , please treat the weapons, the Touken Danshi with kindness. I know it sounds like a fairytale, and I know this whole battle could be easily dismissed as fiction. It was never meant to be common knowledge. I know the panic it would cause if it were. But now it is over. And it must be told.

If ever again, there is a need for my place to be filled, the story of _them_ , and the time we shared must be heard. After my death this Memory will be released so that it will pass under no eyes unread. Someone will see and someone will believe and they will be the right person.

Remember, the Touken Danshi may be hardier, more dazzling, more loyal, brave, and true, than any of us. But they are just as human.

In my telling, and in your reading of my words maybe you can discover the answers that still elude me.

I pray that it be so.

All my blessings, and luck and happiness be with you.

The Saniwa signed the first entry with their symbol, and after looking at the time on their digital clock, gently closed the cover of their notebook and recapped their pen. It was time to get started on breakfast.

* * *

 _Kashuu Kiyomitsu;_ the entry began, _forged in the 17_ _th_ _century, specifically the year 1684 of the current era by the sword smith of the same name. Kiyomitsu, though a master of his craft fell into poverty and had no choice but to live in the slums by the river banks with the burakumin who were confined there. This is the environment in which Kashuu Kiyomitsu was forged, and is perhaps an explanation for why it is an exceptionally beautiful sword. A piece for which Kiyomitsu the sword smith could use to transcend his daily existence of poverty, and outcast status._

 _In spite of whatever final fate befell its creator, Kashuu Kiyomitsu changed hands between unnotable wielders until it passed into the hands of the one it was most famously wielded by, Okita Souji. Okita, one of the founding members of the Miburo who would later become known as the Shinsengumi, and the captain of its first unit. Kashuu Kiyomitsu's last battle was when Okita wielded it at the Ikedaya Incident in 1864 where it is said that its tip broke off and was then deemed unrepairable._

I set the file down in front of me before pushing away from the desk. Of course, I already knew the history of Kashuu Kiyomitsu, and of many other swords. That was to be expected after all, considering what I was. For some reason, ever since I first read about that particular sword I felt a peculiar sort of melancholy wash over me. Every time I went back to that file and read it over I felt a little less lonely.

Striding over to the desk I bid the archivist on duty there farewell, and scooped my large duffle bag from the floor where I had left it. I made my way over to the elevators with a strange warmth bubbling in my chest.

After the doors closed I huffed a laugh at myself and my feelings, but was long since done trying to fight them, deciding to just let myself feel. Besides that though, I was starting to get antsy. The day I have long prepared for has finally arrived – I would be crossing over the portal to the Citadel.

The elevator dinged and opened, and I stepped out into a long white room with many desks, machines, and scientists hard at work. At the other end of the room, the president of the History Preservation Society and other various important government officials were congregated waiting to send me off.

After various introductions and much hand shaking, I was once again reminded that there would be a guide waiting for me on the other side and if I had further questions about my duties, I should ask them. Also that they would move the rest of my things to the other side of the portal tomorrow.

With the hum of the portal generator and solemn wishes for my success I turned toward my future, gripping the strap of my bag. The whole world was counting me. On us. I won't fail them.

Literally one step through, and I was in another world. A world between worlds, also known as the Citadel. I barely noted the portal closing behind me as I looked around myself in awe. What I could see of this dimension and the grounds so far was beautiful.

 _But where was the guide?_

"Oi!"

 _Huh!? Where is that voice coming from? I should have sensed their presence!_ I whipped around trying to locate the source of the voice.

"Oiiiiiii! Idiot Saniwa, down here!"

Bewildered, I looked to the ground, my eyes widening a fraction. _That's the legendary kitsune!?_ _I was expecting someone, well…_

In front of me stood a white, yellow, and red fox-spirit with a pale blue stripe running down his snout. On all fours, he wasn't much taller than forty-five centimeters. Hastily, I took a knee and bowed my head as I did so. It would not do to anger or insult such an ancient spirit.

"Forgive me Konnosuke-san, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. As you know I am the new Saniwa, so please take care of me." I dipped my head lower. _Well, I was expecting someone taller. With more presence. I should have known. The previous Saniwas refrained from mentioning this fact, probably to have one last joke at my expense from beyond the grave. The joke is on them though, since I know how to keep my mouth shut._

"Humph. Well it seems you aren't COMPLETELY ignorant. And you at least have _some_ manners." The last part was mumbled under his breath. "I am the guardian of this Citadel, and as such I am tasked with being your guide while you come into your spiritual power. Follow me now! I will show you to the armory where all the current inventory of swords are being kept, from which five of them you may choose from to become your starter sword."

He explains this as we are walking. "All of which do not require you to expend too much spiritual energy to summon, and for the most part are fairly easy to handle. They are the uchigatana Hachisuka Kotetsu, Yamanbagiri Kunihiro, Mutsunokami Yoshiyuki, Kasen Kanesada, and Kashuu Kiyomitsu."

My brain paused there. Kashuu Kiyomitsu. _Kashuu Kiyomitsu_. Well there was no question now. I hurried my pace.

When we arrived at the armory there was a wide wall dedicated solely the various types of famous swords that were to be recruited. There were wooden plaques with names of the various swords carved in black lettering placed over hanging brackets where the physical swords would be placed. Some filled but most empty, I scanned the name plates until I found the sword I was looking for.

Reverently, I removed the sword from its wall hanging, hands caressing the hilt and the end of the scabbard where the tip of its blade would be unsheathed. Admiring the lacquered red wood of the scabbard to the flower-shaped hand guard I couldn't help but wonder how beautiful the naked blade would be in comparison. A feeling of warmth spread throughout my entire body, stronger than I had ever felt before.

Rightness. Completeness.

There was only one thing left to do before the summoning.

"Konnosuke-san, forgive me, but where is the training pavilion? Could you show me there before we go to the summoning room?"

"WHAT?!" the small fox spirit squawked. "ABSOLUTELY NOT! OUT OF THE QUESTION! What could possibly be more important than the summoning right now?! Besides, you couldn't possibly have any idea how to use a sword! That's not your job. That's not why you're here-

"Forgive my impudence, but the spiritual arts were not the only thing I was trained in. I _do_ know how to wield a sword." I corrected in a measured tone. My voice lowered. "So I could be more prepared than the others that came before me."

 _This is the way._

That shut him up for a second. I took my small window of opportunity to continue.

 _This is the only way I can know for sure._

"Before I choose Kashuu Kiyomitsu as my starting sword, my partner, I want to test our compatibility." I revealed.

The kitsune blinked at me before trotting off silently. I followed him.

* * *

Once in the dojo, or the training pavilion, I stood alone at the center with Kashuu Kiyomitsu held at a stationary position at my left side and inhaled deeply.

I smelled pine wood, or was it cedar? And fresh air. The cleanest I had ever breathed. This Citadel really was a place of purity. Then I slowly exhaled, and drew.

After placing the scabbard at my side I slowly straitened from my crouched position and as I did my eyes were fixed to the blade watching the light travel from the base to the tip with a bewitching glint, as if in invitation to test my mettle. Prove my worthiness.

And so I would.

Taking my standard starting position I close my eyes and whispered.

"Kashuu Kiyomitsu," I breathed, as if beginning a prayer. "Show me. What you want. What you are. Show me. Show me everything. _Please,_ " I implored "I am yours."

A beat. And then its energy thrummed to life in my hands. It guided me.

Its memory came alive through my hands into the rest of my body and we moved together. Through what must have been warm up exercises, to pattern dances, in the chosen style of Okita Souji, the Tennen Rishin Ryu, passed down by Kondo Isami before him.

The pace quickened and burned and it quickly became apparent that we were going through the motions of old battles fought long ago, so furiously were we fighting invisible demons. I nearly lived them, so strong were the memories but I kept my head and was not drowned in the undertow.

Our energies harmonized.

We were one.

Then slowly I began to take control, winding, cooling down, from the slices, thrusts, arcs, parries, blocks of the Tennen Rishin Ryu and guided Kashuu Kiyomitsu comfortingly into my own style as if soothing a sobbing child.

Taking a finishing stance, breathing laboured I could feel the sweat pouring down my body, chest heaving, limbs shaking from exertion, and tears welling up in my eyes. But never once did that warmth waver, never did that feeling of wholeness ever fade. It became stronger.

Standing completely erect, I reversed my grip on the sword then turned it in my hand to sheath it, then held it in front of me, my hand still placed protectively on the hilt and turned to the side to face where the kitsune stood vigil.

"That's enough for today," Konnosuke said in a solemn tone. "I'll show you to the baths where you can get cleaned up and then you can retire for the rest of the day." Then with a swish of his tail he left.

The heavy gaze that was trained on us throughout our entire communion still lingered.

* * *

 **A/N: And that's a wrap! Hooooo boyyyy I think that was the best first chapter I've ever written, let alone conceived. I hoped you readers enjoyed it and that it was as emotionally poignant as I hope it was.**

 **Other things to note are to expect slow updates, like,** _ **really**_ **slow. And that I haven't played the game so please go easy on me if I make some mistakes, but tell me, and I will correct them!**

 **Glossary:**

 **Year/Month/Day – the order of how Japan dates things like Canada dates things Month/Day/Year and the US dates things Day/Month/Year.**

 **History Preservation Society – the name I gave to the organization that must sponser the Saniwa and oppose the History Retrograde Committee. As of yet has no name in the anime, or game (as far as I know) so this is the name I came up with. More on the HPS later.**

 **Memory of Saniwa – named like the different levels of the game such as Memory of Samurai or Memory of Ikedaya, etc. (It also happens to be the name of my friend raifujinn's Touken Ranbu fanfiction, again, called Memory of Saniwa. Check it out! It's fantastic). Here it refers to my Saniwa's autobiography detailing their experience of their time as Saniwa.**

 **Burakumin – social outcasts, so deemed by their so-called 'unclean professions'. Includes butchers, tanners, and entertainers. They were forbidden from growing rice, a staple in a typical diet, and so were confined to the riverbanks which were infertile. Kiyomitsu the sword smith lived in these conditions because he was too poor. This is what Kashuu means when he says that he is a child of the river bank. (Keep this particular fact in mind, it's important.)**

 **Again, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter and thanks for reading!**


End file.
